Tyrant's Throne

by de Castell, Sebastien

  I started back for the castle, but the coin was still heavy in my hand, so I turned and held it aloft. ‘Who brought this?’ I asked, my voice loud, the words echoing across the field.

  People stared at me, no doubt wondering why I was shouting at them, but I went on shouting anyway. ‘Whose is this? Who here served on a jury and kept the payment unspent?’

  A man in tanners’ leathers took a step forward. ‘I served on a jury,’ he said. ‘For Antrim Thomas – the King’s Memory himself.’ He reached into a pocket and pulled something out, holding it up high. It was a golden Greatcoat’s coin and it shone in the sunlight.

  ‘I served,’ a woman just a few feet from him said, and she too held up a coin. ‘Kest Murrowson, the Queen’s Shield, gave me this.’

  ‘I got mine from Talia, the King’s Spear,’ a young man declared proudly, holding up his own.

  ‘Mine from Brasti!’ another said. ‘Along with more beer than any one man should ever drink!’

  Laughter, then boasting, and more men and women held up coins, each declaring the name of the Greatcoat who’d given it to them, along with their home town or village.

  ‘Whose coin is this, damn you?’ I shouted.

  A boy, no more than fourteen and far too young to die serving in an army that had no hope of winning, came forward and mumbled, ‘It was my mother’s, sir. She was the town blacksmith in Uttarr.’

  ‘I remember her . . . she served on my jury on one of my first missions. Where is she now?’

  ‘Dead, sir – last year.’ He looked at the coin. ‘She gave me that before she passed, said it was my job now to ensure the verdict against Lord Myrdhin remained in force.’

  ‘But why didn’t she spend it?’

  The boy gave me a queer look. ‘Spend it? She’d never do that, sir, not even in the hard times. Said it meant something: something that couldn’t be bought for mere gold.’

  ‘And yet you sold it for better food for a prisoner?’

  ‘I didn’t know what else to do, sir. First Cantor’s in jail, I just thought . . .’ He looked unsure of himself and muttered, ‘Didn’t know what else to do.’

  I tossed him back the coin. ‘Don’t sell it so cheaply next time.’

  ‘Don’t you dare have a go at that boy,’ Feltock said, hopping up to me, supporting himself on his crutch. ‘You can’t blame him if people get all sentimental around you Trattari.’

  ‘Sentimental isn’t the word I’d use for the way most people view us in this country, Feltock.’

  The old man looked at me wide-eyed for a moment, then he chuckled. ‘You really don’t know?’

  ‘Don’t know what?’

  He turned to face the worn-down, filthy, malnourished volunteers and shouted in the voice that had no doubt served him well when he’d commanded his own troops, ‘Oi, you lot: how many of you served on a Greatcoat’s jury?’

  By way of answer, men and women all over the camp ducked into their tents for a moment, or reached into pockets or pouches or bent over to remove something from socks or shoes . . .

  Saints . . . Half the army is made up of jurors!

  ‘Falcio, there you are,’ Brasti said. Kest came up on my other side. ‘Nehra’s up my nose about you not making a de—’ He looked around and I watched as his expression took on the same mixture of confusion and hopefulness that was pasted across my own face. ‘By the infinite abundance of Saint Laina’s left tit . . .’

  One by one those who had come to Aramor willing to sacrifice themselves in a hopeless war held their hands up high, gold coins pressed between thumbs and forefingers, catching the sunlight like a thousand stars shining in the dawn. This, I thought, overcome by the sight of them all. This was Paelis’ dream! Not some paltry hundred and forty-four magistrates with our swords and our coats, but the jurors: ordinary men and woman armed with nothing.

  For a while the three of us just stood there and stared at them all. I dearly wanted to cling to that moment for ever, but now I had rather a lot of work to do.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ I said to Kest and Brasti, ‘I’m of a mind to attempt something rather daring and heroic.’

  Brasti grinned. ‘I assume this preposterous venture of yours is doomed to fail?’

  ‘Assuredly. But we’re going to do it anyway. You know why?’

  Kest had a broad smile, one I’d rarely seen before. ‘Because preposterous heroics are the only things we’ve ever been good at.’

  ‘Tell Nehra to summon the Orders,’ I told Brasti. ‘Tell her the First Cantor of the Greatcoats has ruled that we’re going to fight for this Gods-forsaken country of ours.’

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  The Traitor

  In a better world, the sight of all those jurors holding up their coins would have sustained me through the insanity to follow. Unfortunately, as I’d never declared war before, I found myself completely unprepared for what came next and barely had time to give those stalwart jurors another thought.

  ‘I really think there’s something inherently wrong with any country that lets Falcio decide if it goes to war,’ Brasti said as the three of us walked up the stairs towards the King’s private chambers.

  ‘That’s not technically what happened,’ Kest observed. ‘Falcio merely ruled that the Orders would support the King.’

  ‘Yes, which just happened to set off a war.’ Brasti slapped me on the back. ‘Can’t wait to see what all those Bardatti songs will say about you if this goes badly.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  I waited for the two guards in Aramor’s purple livery standing outside the King’s chambers to open the double-doors to let us inside.

  Neither moved.

  ‘Captain needs to speak with you first,’ the more senior of the two men said at last.

  ‘Oh, Saint Vigga-whose-shit-plugs-privies,’ Brasti swore. ‘Not this again!’

  ‘Yes, this again,’ Antrim said, striding down the hall towards us. I was surprised to see he still wore the gold circles on his collar denoting his rank as leader of the Aramor Guards.

  ‘Of course,’ Brasti said, frowning. ‘Falcio tries to kill a King and gets asked to lead his army, and Antrim lets enemy soldiers into the castle and somehow keeps his job as Captain of the Guards. I wish someone would have told me that all I needed to do to advance my career was screw up incredibly badly.’

  Antrim ignored him, focusing his ire on me. ‘The King, in what I think we’ll have to refer to as “his infinite mercy”, decided I wasn’t to blame. Don’t make me look like a fool again, Falcio.’

  ‘Relax, Antrim,’ Brasti said. ‘Kest and I will keep an eye on him.’

  ‘You two arseholes are staying outside.’ He signalled to the two guards, who finally opened the door, but before I could walk past, Antrim said, very quietly, ‘The fate of my homeland rests on your shoulders, Falcio. No more mistakes. No more losing your temper. Next time you endanger the King, it’ll be me you’ll face in the duelling circle.’

  I was fairly certain that was the first time Antrim Thomas had ever threatened anyone in his life.

  *

  I found Filian standing over a map unfurled on a large oval table littered with coloured wooden shapes apparently representing different military divisions. Trin was standing on one side and, more surprisingly, Valiana was on the other. That she was able to look so remarkably calm and demure in the presence of the woman who had tried to kill her even more times than she’d tried to kill me was a testament to Valiana’s remarkable self-control.

  ‘Ah, Falcio, good,’ the King said as I entered the room. He waved a piece of parchment in his hand. ‘I’m afraid that the Duchess has been putting forward a number of entirely convincing arguments as to why I should issue a warrant for your arrest on charges of treason. I thought perhaps you might help me dissuade her.’

  I hadn’t been expecting a parade, exactly, bu
t I had hoped that perhaps agreeing to throw away my life – not to mention the lives of a couple of thousand people I liked quite a bit better than our new King and his charming Consort – would keep me out of gaol for a little longer.

  ‘Perhaps Duchess Tarindelle could be a little more specific,’ I said, watching Trin. ‘I’ve committed rather a lot of treason lately.’

  She offered up her usual knowing smile, along with a slight shake of her head.

  ‘Wrong Duchess,’ Filian explained.

  I turned to Valiana. ‘You? You want the King to name me traitor?’

  ‘It’s not what you think, Falcio,’ she said quickly. ‘The idea is to—’

  ‘It’s insurance,’ Filian said, looking none too pleased by the idea himself. ‘Valiana believes I shouldn’t be present at the battle.’

  ‘You see what happens?’ Trin asked whimsically. ‘Give a woman the Duchy of Rijou and all of a sudden she becomes as corrupt as our father.’

  The urge to reach for my rapier was cut off by the sudden rage on Valiana’s face. Apparently I wasn’t the only one in danger of being goaded to rash acts of violence. A second later, Valiana mastered herself. ‘Falcio, if you’ll just let me explain—’

  ‘You want to give the King a second chance at peace with Avares,’ I said, already working through Valiana’s reasoning. ‘If our bid to impress the Avareans with our rokhan fails, they’ll massacre half the country in retaliation. But if the attack comes not from the ruler of the country but from a treasonous rebel . . .’

  Valiana smiled. ‘Exactly. The King could claim you led the rebellion against his wishes. It’s a long shot, but if there’s even a remote possibility that this will open the door for a better treaty with the Avareans . . .’

  She was right: the odds were slim, but slim odds were better than none. And what was even better, the Magdan would love it: Morn gets control of the country without having to fulfil any Avarean obligation to destroy those who dare to resist without showing true rokhan, while I die a traitor to my own homeland. It was a depressingly brilliant ploy.

  ‘You should sign it, your Majesty,’ I said at last.

  He hesitated for a moment, but then, looking older than his fifteen years, took the pen Valiana was proffering, dipped it in the inkwell and signed the decree. ‘So begins my reign, with an act of ignominy and cowardice, one that my father would never even have considered.’

  ‘Oh, he would have,’ I said, thinking of the day King Paelis had ordered me to stand the Greatcoats down and sign the infamous concord that declared our order disbanded. ‘He’d do whatever it took to keep people safe.’

  Filian rolled up the parchment and sealed it with wax. ‘It’s done. Congratulations, Falcio, you’re now the unlawful leader of a rebel army – none of whom realise that you’ve all been declared traitors to Tristia and its people.’ He sounded very young as he asked, ‘Can you save us?’

  There was no point in hiding the truth from him, or from myself. ‘Not a chance. The Avareans were dangerous even when they fought with badly made bronze swords and spears. Now they have cannon and weapons of Shan steel. Even if every single one of the Dukes rallied to us, we’d still have no hope against the Avarean horde.’

  Filian took in a slow breath, visibly trying to summon his courage. ‘I suppose I can hardly blame the Dukes for seceding then, can I?’ he said at last. ‘Not if they buy their own people a few more years of freedom.’

  ‘Do not give up hope quite yet, your Majesty,’ Valiana said gently.

  He turned to her. ‘Hope, my Lady?’ He gestured to the coloured blocks of wood arrayed on the map on the table. ‘What cause do you see here for hope?’

  Valiana met my eyes, and in her smile I saw the warmth that had been absent for far too long. ‘Where our people have always found it, your Majesty, in tales told by the fireside of a sharp blade wielded by a quick hand and guided by a brave and foolish heart, of friends fighting together no matter the odds.’

  ‘Stories?’ Trin said, turning the word into something small and petty. ‘You really should have paid more attention to Mother’s lectures on the art of warfare.’

  ‘She wasn’t my mother,’ Valiana replied, refusing to take the bait.

  Filian flicked one of the wooden pieces on the map, tipping it over. ‘So we wager the future of the country on the hope that by, in effect, sacrificing themselves to the horde, Falcio and the others will tell such a tale of valour that our enemy’s admiration will get us better terms in defeat. Yes? That’s it?’ He looked up at me. ‘Do you really believe in all this Avarean nonsense about honour and rokhan, Falcio?’

  I only knew one real Avarean, and he was on our side, so I didn’t really have an answer for that – but fortunately, Valiana did. ‘It makes little difference, your Majesty,’ she said. ‘Victorious nations set terms of surrender based on how dangerous they deem the conquered.’

  Trin gave a smirk. ‘Ah. So you were listening to Mother’s lectures after all.’

  A flash of annoyance passed across Filian’s features, but he let it go and turned back to me. ‘What price will you ask of me, Falcio?’

  ‘Price?’ Trin asked before I could ask the same question.

  The King nodded. ‘Well, I assume Falcio expects his sacrifice – and that of what will likely be a great many others – to come at some cost to me. No doubt it’ll be some curtailing of royal prerogative . . . So, go on then: what would you have me do?’

  Being new to the business of war, it hadn’t occurred to me to ask for anything, especially as I was almost certainly going to be dead within a couple of weeks anyway. But I did like the idea of limiting Filian’s – and by extension, Trin’s – power over the country. ‘A charter,’ I said quickly.

  ‘A what?’ Filian asked.

  I considered my next words carefully. The problem with Morn’s plans for a better country was that he wanted to replace one tyranny with another, making us a judiciary rather than a monarchy. What Tristia needed was something else entirely.

  ‘Your Majesty, if there’s any kind of country left once this is done, if the Avareans leave you with anything to govern, then you’ll sign a charter giving the citizenry of Tristia a voice in your rule.’

  ‘How exactly would I do that?’ Filian asked. He sounded oddly unsurprised by my demand.

  No fucking idea, I thought, but as usual, Valiana understood what I was trying to say better than I did myself. ‘A council,’ she said suddenly, then explained, ‘The monarchy has always relied on a Ducal Council for advice – your Majesty could establish a Citizens’ Council, with members drawn from every walk of life, to ensure you hear the needs of those you rule.’ She gestured to Trin and added, ‘Your Majesty would no doubt also want a representative of the nobility on this new Citizens’ Council.’

  Trin looked aghast: she had just gone from being Filian’s sole advisor to having to sit around a table with farmers and stone­masons. ‘You cannot do this,’ she said firmly to Filian. ‘You would be overturning a thousand years of—’

  ‘I accept your terms,’ Filian said.

  For a moment I was surprised at his acquiescence, then I wondered, was this exactly what he’d wanted when he’d asked what payment I expected in return for running his war? Had he known even before I did that the one thing I’d ask for would be a limit on the influence of the nobility?

  What game are you playing, your Majesty?

  ‘I believe we’re done for now,’ the King said.

  Trin, recovering her composure, turned her gaze to Valiana and me. ‘You may take your leave of us now. The King and I—’

  ‘I would speak to the First Cantor a moment,’ Filian interrupted. ‘Alone.’

  Valiana looked surprised, Trin incensed – and I was enjoying myself for the first time in ages. ‘You know,’ I said to Filian once we were alone, ‘it’s entirely possible that Trin wants to kill
you more than me right now.’

  ‘Tarindelle would never hurt me,’ he said. ‘Although I know it’s hard for you to believe, I do know something of love.’ He turned and pulled down a black wooden case from one of the bookshelves and set it on the table in front of me. The box was about eighteen inches long and four inches high. ‘This is for you, Falcio.’

  ‘A gift, your Majesty? I—’

  ‘It’s not from me.’ He placed his hands on the box for a moment, gingerly, as if it were hot to the touch. ‘I found it among my sister’s things. I believe she meant to give it to you on the day of her coronation.’

  I took the box from him and flipped up the twin brass clasps. The lid opened smoothly to reveal a beautifully made leather bracer filled with throwing knives, although this one had seven where my old one had only six. On top was a note written in Aline’s light and elegant hand:

  So you’ll never be without – and because a Queen is far too busy and important to be handing you knives every time you get yourself into yet another silly old fight.

  I held the bracer in my hands for a long while, letting my fingers travel over the carefully stitched leather; all the while, my eyes never left the note.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Filian said.

  I was about to ask him why he was apologising when I felt the tears dripping down my cheeks.

  ‘I wish I’d known her better,’ he said. ‘Perhaps tonight you and I could talk a while, Falcio. I would like to know more about my sister.’

  I carefully replaced the bracer of knives and laid the note on top, then I closed the box and tucked it under my arm.

  ‘It’s kind of you to offer, your Majesty, but if Aline were here right now, she would tell me it was past time I got on with saving your damned country now.’